


The Barefoot Bride

by xspike4evax



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xspike4evax/pseuds/xspike4evax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow's fairytale wedding had been twisted beyond all recognition and she had been left in this nightmare she no longer expected to wake from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Barefoot Bride

The Barefoot Bride 

 

It was a clear night; warm and sultry. It made Willow's skin prickle. 

She stood at the window looking out over the dark garden, trying hard not to see her reflection in the glass. 

Drusilla had spent all afternoon getting her ready, weaving her long red hair into complicated twists and curls reminiscent of days gone by, painting her nails and arranging her dress just so.

Willow pressed her fingertips to the cool glass watching flesh meet reflection. All she had to do was lift her eyes and she would be able to see herself. She should probably take this last opportunity of looking into a mirrored surface and seeing her face; but she wasn't ready to do it yet. 

She let out a breath, it fogged the glass for a moment. It was funny how things turned out. Not funny ha ha, but funny in the creepy sense. Just like any other little girl she had imagined her wedding day, her best friend Xander as the groom, her family and friends looking on with pride and smiles, sharing in their happiness.

Things had not worked out the way she had imagined.

Angelus had kidnapped her as a way to not only hurt Buffy, but to try and keep her in line. One false move on the Slayer's part and Angelus would deliver little bits of Willow on Buffy’s doorstep all neatly packaged in pretty paper.

Somehow, and Willow still wasn't sure how it had come about; she had ended up in Spike's possession. 

Now she was wearing white; not the princess style dress she had set her heart on as a child, but a vintage silk dress with thick lace delicately embroidered and small sleeves gathered at her shoulders; she looked like something from a Victorian catalogue. Not surprising seeming as it was Drusilla who had dressed her. 

It wasn't a wedding either, not really; although Drusilla had clapped and smiled and insisted on a big production. Angelus and Spike simply let her carry on. Angelus didn't care one way or the other, but Willow had the strangest feeling this mockery of a wedding appealed to something in Spike. Not to hurt her or humiliate her, but because it meant something to him. He never said anything and she didn't ask, but the feeling was there all the same. 

Peering into the darkness Willow searched for the ground below. She was on the top floor, Drusilla wanted her to make a grand entrance into the rooms below where her life would end and she would be reborn into a creature of the night. It was a long way down, if she fell she might not survive. She could jump, she could throw herself through the glass on to the mercy of fate and pray for a broken neck. 

But she wouldn't and Willow knew it. 

She wasn't afraid to die, she was afraid she would live, afraid that Spike would get to her before the last breath could leave her body and she would have only served to make Spike mad. 

Footsteps sounded on the landing and Willow's bare toes curled into the cold wood of the floor. The door unlocked and Drusilla appeared. 

"The flowers were all wrong," Drusilla said testily. Her face smoothed out of its frown and she observed Willow with a smile, her tongue touching to her upper lip. "My Spike will be pleased. No need to be afraid little lamb," she murmured, her fingers stroking down Willow's cheek. "Spike will take care of you. He will be gentle and tender with his new bride." 

Willow's face flamed, Drusilla's double meaning crystal clear. 

Drusilla would insist on calling her a bride; but Willow's fairytale wedding had been twisted beyond all recognition and she had been left in this nightmare she no longer expected to wake from. 

Drusilla's fingers were cool on Willow's arm, guiding her out of the room. The door closed quietly behind them and Willow's heart thumped in response. The marble was cold against her bare feet, it seemed to seep through her body; chilling her to the very marrow of her bones.

Willow was numb when she stepped from the landing on to the top step and made her way to her death.


End file.
